


Muffins and Mutfruit Jam

by Morgenleoht



Series: The Way to a Man's Heart [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Implied Kidnapping of a minor, Mentions of Death and Violence, Or well lust the love comes later, Porn With Plot, The Female Sole Survivor is about twenty-one, Vaginal Sex, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9163732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgenleoht/pseuds/Morgenleoht
Summary: As a Brotherhood soldier, Rosemary Hallam makes a great cook. Arthur Maxson rather likes that about her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> AU Maxson/SoSu smut.

 

Rosemary Hallam was a Yorkshire pudding in a world full of irradiated monsters, acid rain and raiders who would kill, eat and do unspeakable things to her – in that order if she was fortunate. So when the Prydwen sailed across the Commonwealth blaring its message of military reassurance, she was at the Airport the next day begging to join up. She had the brain-chip of an Institute cyborg, a bagful of synth chips and an almighty grudge with the underground bastards who stole her son. That had to count for something, right?

            She failed the physical. Three weeks out of the Vault hadn’t worked any wonders for her post-baby body, let alone things like strength and stamina. She managed to dismantle a laser rifle and lose half the parts, making a hardened Knight-Sergeant cry. She even found a way to release the mole rats in Senior Scribe Neriah’s office, which nearly led to Proctor Quinlan’s cat getting eaten.

            Finally, they tossed her into the mess hall because, if nothing else, she could cook and bake. Then Lancer-Captain Kells started bitching about the weight gain amongst the soldiers. There was just no pleasing some people.

            She was baking razorgrain English-style muffins one morning when King – err, Elder Arthur Maxson himself descended to the mess hall like a monarch surveying the grubbiest part of his domain. As per regulations on wastage and the lack thereof, Rosemary was rolling up bits of dough and making teeny-weeny muffins as bribes for the Squires. The children were eating too many Sugar Bombs and that rubbish rotted their teeth. Good solid food would keep them going for longer because in the Wasteland, even the children had to work hard.

            “Initiate Hallam,” Maxson greeted in that raspy voice of his. The deathclaw that gave him the wicked facial scars also damaged his voice-box according to Knight-Captain Cade. His Majesty didn’t seem to mind because it made him sound older. She knew he’d come to command very young.

            “Elder Maxson,” she responded. “Muffins are on the tray and the mutfruit jam is in the red bowl. It’s serve yourself day.”

            “Those don’t look like any muffin I know,” he said doubtfully, examining the flat rounds of baked good dusted with flour.

            “That’s because the Americans never did learn how to make a proper muffin, dear,” she said over her shoulder as she put another tray in the oven. “You should see what they called biscuits.”

            “You weren’t American?” the Elder asked in some surprise.

            “No. I was born in Yorkshire, England. Came across the pond as a child because of the Resource Wars.” She shut the door and turned around, wiping her hands on the apron. “Married Nate when I was eighteen and wound up in the Vault three years later.”

            “I was briefed on your situation. I am sorry for the loss of your husband. He sounds like he was an exceptional soldier,” Maxson said awkwardly.

            “He was a drunken lout with daddy issues,” Rosemary said bluntly. “I’m more worried about Shaun. Have you heard anything, sir?”

            The Elder looked taken aback momentarily before assuming his customary mask of command. “We’re tracking a lead in the Glowing Sea,” he told her. “Paladin Danse is on it.”

            “Wonderful. I owe that man a cake.”

            Something young and a bit mischievous flashed in those vivid blue eyes. “Do I get a cake for giving the order?”

            “No, you get first pick of the muffins.” Rosemary split one that was still warm, put it in the toaster until golden-brown and then slathered Brahmin butter and mutfruit jam on it. She offered it to the Elder. “Go on, try it.”

            Arthur Maxson ate it straight from the palm of her hand, tongue rasping wetly against her fingers, and damned if her libido didn’t wake up then and there. “I’m beginning to see why the days you’re cooking are the most popular on the Prydwen,” he finally observed.

            “I was studying to be a chef – a fancy cook,” she confessed breathlessly. “Food’s a lot like sex – no point doing it if you can’t be arsed to do it right.”

            The Elder chuckled softly. “Not many dare to flirt with me, Initiate.”

            “You don’t mind?”

            “By the Steel, no. You’re gorgeous. Pink and gold like the dawn against the Citadel, soft and lush like the fields irrigated by Project Purity.” His voice was almost reverent. “When I saw you, I-. Well, my thoughts were improper when it came to the grieving widow of a deceased soldier.”

            That was rather… flattering. Even romantic. “The only thing I grieve about Nate’s death is that he isn’t around to help find Shaun,” she admitted softly. “As for you, you’re… built like a good brick baker’s oven, your eyes are blue as blueberries and… and… your hair is the colour of a well-cooked steak.”

            Arthur blinked before throwing his head back and roaring with laughter. Rosemary felt her ego sink through the Prydwen’s floor and land somewhere in the water beside the Airport. She’d bloody well blown it, hadn’t she?

            Then Maxson leaned across the bench, hooked his finger through the little pull-ring attached to the zip of her uniform, and claimed her mouth hungrily. His lips were firm and warm, still smeared with mutfruit jam and muffin crumbs, and she moaned at the taste of his tongue as he devoured her. When he broke the kiss, she made a disappointed noise, a blush rising in her cheeks.

            “Few dare to flirt with me. Less make me laugh,” he rasped.

            “They should try it more. That was a rather good kiss.”

            Arthur himself now blushed. “Thank you. I don’t get to practice a lot.”

            “Neither did I. Nate was conscripted shortly after our marriage and was gone for nearly three years.” Rosemary sighed and looked away. “I better check those muffins.”

            “Do so.” Arthur’s voice was warm. “When does your shift end?”

            “Second watch.” Was he propositioning her? God, she hoped so.

            “Join me for dinner in my quarters, please.” When she glanced at him, she realised he was a little red under the tan, the scowl almost eased into a pleading expression.

            “You’d have to lock the door to keep me out,” she said fervently.

…

Dinner was broiled bloatfly chunks smothered in creamed corn. What Knight-Sergeant Cobbs did to food bordered on the criminal after tasting Rosemary’s cooking. Arthur was seriously considering throwing him in the brig until he learned how to cook properly.

            “If this is what the soldiers normally eat, no wonder they’re all getting fat on my days in the mess,” Rosemary observed as she pushed the unappetising mass around.

            “I’d promote you to Mess-Sergeant _now_ but that might be seen as an abuse of authority,” Arthur told her. “Give me six months or so and the Proctors will be fine with it.”

            “Just so long as I have to only eat Cobbs’ food twice a week, I’ll be fine. Now Stuckey has some potential…” Rosemary steeled herself and ate the food. She’d lived long enough in the Wasteland to not waste a meal, even an unappetising one.

            Arthur munched his way through the gluey mess. He would eat Brahmin shit on a silver platter if it meant he could watch Rosemary for as long as he pleased. The rose-tinged porcelain skin, smattered with freckles across dimpled cheeks, was pure pre-War figurine and the rich gold of her shoulder-length hair like the first dawn light cresting the horizon. She was small and sweet and soft like Fancy Lad Snack Cakes, an iced little cake that wouldn’t have survived the Wasteland if she hadn’t come to the Brotherhood.

            In short, she was so unlike the warrior-women of his order that he was entranced. He wanted to wrap himself around the soft curves of breast, hip and belly, lick mutfruit jam from her nipples until she moaned his name and then-

            Arthur sternly reminded himself that he was the Elder of the East Coast Brotherhood of Steel and that Rosemary was a precious relic of the pre-War days who deserved to be courted and cherished, not bent over the table and fucked like a beast.

            Then her foot, somehow bare of its Brahmin leather boot and cotton sock, began to trace patterns up his calf to his knee teasingly. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his tight control begin to slip as Rosemary licked her pink plump lips slowly.

            “Bloody things always hurt my feet,” she grumbled under her breath.

            “Your left foot seems unaffected,” he observed hoarsely.

            She blushed a little but rubbed her shin along his thigh without shame. “I nearly burned the muffins because of you, Arthur Maxson.”

            He grunted, wanting more friction where it counted. “If it wouldn’t have violated the Litany’s rules on kitchen hygiene, I would have fucked you over the mess bench.”

            Her vivid blue eyes sparkled. “Like talking dirty, do you?”

            Then she leaned over and murmured something that was rather in line with his thoughts of licking mutfruit jam from her nipples in language coarse enough to make Proctor Teagan blush.

            She’d been a wife and mother for nearly as long as he’d been an Elder. In her sphere, she was as competent as he was in his.

            In other words, he felt less guilty about pushing the plates of lousy food off the table with a clatter of plastic and steel to grab her than he should.

            She was as perfect against him as he imagined, the Brotherhood uniform clinging sinfully to the lush curves and soft roll of belly-fat. Her hands roamed his body unabashedly, throwing oil onto the raging fire of his lust and encouraging his own explorations. By the time their uniforms were tossed aside, Arthur was thrusting urgently against her, unable to stop the snap of his hips.

            When he came on her belly, Rosemary simply smiled and swiped her fingers through the sticky mess to lick them clean. Arthur felt his cock twitch and knew he wouldn’t be soft for long.

            To make up for his selfishness, he kissed his way down her neck and across her breasts until she was a writhing mess. It was a little awkward but Rosemary didn’t seem to mind, muttering his name in the most adorable way. She came apart under his tongue as it parted her nether lips and touched her clit, stifling her orgasmic keen with a fist stuffed into her mouth. So she valued discretion. That pleased Arthur very much.

            For all the foot or so between their heights, Rosemary’s cunt sheathed his cock like a scabbard taking a sword. “Oh yes,” she sighed in pleasure. “ _Please_ Arthur…”

            He didn’t fuck her over the table like a beast but he certainly fucked her on it. Her blunt nails managed to bite into his biceps as he buried himself in that tight wet warmth again and again, a piston of flesh and bone. Her hips rose to accommodate him, her back arched and her breasts were soft in his hands. She matched him, tightening her cunt until he was hoarsely crying out her name.

            White noise took the world away from him as he came. When his vision cleared, he looked down at her red round face and met her smile with one of his own.

            Then she laughed wickedly and said, “Next time, I’ll bring the mutfruit jam.”

            Arthur grinned. “I think you’re going to be the death of me, woman. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

            And he didn’t.


End file.
